A Roxbury Garden
by xauf
Summary: Bella had always fancied Edward. But he never seemed to be showing any respect or interest beyond that of a worker to his employer's daughter. She went as far as beggin' her pa to do anything in his power to scheme and manipulate Edward into marrying her.


**Since the day she laid her eyes on 'the other Cullen boy' that worked in her pa's store, Bella had always fancied Edward. But Edward never seemed to be showin' any respect or interest beyond that of a worker to his employer's daughter, She went as far as beggin' her pa to do anything in his power to scheme and manipulate Edward into marrying her.**

**These are flashing memories of events.**

* * *

I had entered her roughly. When she won't shut it from whisperin' 'I love you Edward Cullen' o'er 'n o'er to her self, I jus' clammed up my palm on 'er mouth. She was so tight, an' her body was feverishly hot all o'er, from excitement or fear, I wern't know. She be gettin' too darn tight now 'twas almost impossible fer me to move an' git this o'er with. I jus' need to git my seeds spill in 'er, an' be done wit it. I didn't drink too much vodka unfortunately, the alcohol haze had wane off, an' I had a hard time blockin' her loathsome whimpers an' moans an' my own desperate grunts. I swore that if I don't get to finish in the next few minutes, I'd jus' fuckin' leave 'n go wash my cock or sumthin'.

That's when she suddenly thrashed an' spasmed around. Her thighs an' knees a'jerkin', as if they're tryin' to tear it self apart. Her flailin' arms were thrown about on the sheets, fingers balled in fists yet desperately try to find purchase on anythin' besides my limbs-I had harshly told her to dare not try to touch me or anythin' whilst we're doin' the whole despicable deed.

That was also when my heart picked up speed, an' I know I was close.

I buried my head next to her face, whilst keepin my hand clammin' up her mouth. This way I don't need to see her scrunched up face. But the moment my forehead met her sprawled curls, my nostrils flared up an' filled with her sickly sweet an' disgustin' scent. She had been workin' all day in the stable an' farm. She smelled of sunlight, hay, sweat an' soap-that soap they used to sell in her pa's store, back when Charlie Swan was the sole magnate of our small town. Rememberin' that brings back my anger.

No, my anger had never left.

A simple smell brought back bitter memories that fueled my anger. And bein' here with her like this, only made me want to kick myself in the head to get faster to the end. So I forcefully lift her upper torso into me, an' pressed my chest onto 'er.

She fuckin' mewled into my hand like a pussy in heat. And that did it.

I spilled into her in a rage, as she clenched, pulsed, and milked me in frantic swiftness. Only after a few split seconds did I realize the stillness of our bodies. Despite my rush of blood an' the subdued movements in her chest—tryin' to inhale breaths, we were completely still. And I was completely sober by then. I quickly pulled out of her an' saw how much I was soaked with her blood. It seemed as if I was guttin' her from inside out. I didn't wanna dwell on that thought for too long, so I hurriedly gathered my clothes to wipe an' cover my loins, an' marched straight out to the wash house.

I reckoned that I did hear a faint squeak of her stifled sob, but I shook my head an' jus' went outta the door.

Three weeks later she told me that she has been talkin' to Mrs. Cope, the only midwife in our town. Nuff said that I already know what she was stutterin' about next. Wife's got a bun in her oven.

Strangely, it made me feel vindicated yet scared at the same time. Scared of what, I didn't know. Maybe scared of myself, or scared of the fact that somewhere along those seven months or so of her bearin' our child, I had fallen for her. And that made me hate her ev'n more. But I didn't say nuthin'. Not ev'n after she gave birth to our child.

Our stillborn.

She was badly bleedin', the midwife helper changed the water in the basin three or four times, an' each time she went out of the room with it, 'twas always deep crimson red, almost black.

* * *

"You made me fuckin' fall for ye!"

"P-please don't be upset."

"I want to hate ye so bad.."

"What should I do? Tell me what to do."

"Do ye honestly think that ye can make me hate ye 'gain?"

"J-just tell me... tell me what I should do-. To-, make ye hate me 'gain. I'd do anythin'."

* * *

"Tell me why ye love me?"

"I've always liked ye from-. From the first time I saw ye— ye were-. When I first saw ye, I thought that-, an angel. Yours-, face must be what an angel must look like. Like how I'd imagine, when my mama told me stories 'bout angels."

Then she sat beside me, and her eyes went astray, as if she spoke from a different time. That time when I was the scrawny, twelve year old 'Cullen boy', laborin' at her pa's convenient store.

"Then of course," she feebly laughed. "I was too dazzled by ye, I tripped over my own foot-. And when ye rushed over an' helped me to stand, I sure believe that my knees would fail me an' I'd land on my behind again. But ye kept me close by an' protect me. I'd fallen fer an angel. Told myself, that I'd fancied me self an angel."

"Ye scraped yer elbow…" I trailed.

".. I know, I—"

"I've always made ye hurt. Ev'n then."

I made my way across the table and sat beside her. I took her hand in mine, and she didn't protest, she just let me.  
I hoped against hope that everythin' will be alright. The light in her eyes I saw that night was everythin'. It _is_ my everythin' now.  
It terrified me of what is possible. It worried me-all the things that I knew I would admit to her, admit to myself.

But if that's what I'd need to go through, I don't mind at all.

Not one bit.

* * *

"I-, I promised that I will never bother ye 'agin."

"Ye promised.."

"Yes, I do."

"Alright."

She was in awe as she stared at me in disbelief. She looked as if she almost she expect a 'no' fer an answer. Hell, I even thought that I was gonna say no.

* * *

I tucked in the strand curls on her forehead.

"T-that feels nice… " I almost chuckled. She looked almost… adorable.

I can tell that she didn't know first thing of what she supposed to be feelin'. She lookin' as if she had found water after walkin' fer days on the desert. The way her mouth openin' and closin', like a fish outta water, made me almost wanna comfort her.

"C-can ye say-, I often heard them—callin'… I mean—". She looked down, her brows creased in to get her words across. She licks her lips over and over, huffin' and puffin' tryin' to control her breathin'. I moved an inch closer, and she almost flinched from the proximity. Like we bein' this close is too much for her to bear.

"What do ye want me to say?" I said to her lowly. "Just tell me."

I was gettin' impatient waitin' for her answer.

She closed her eyes, and shook her head, maybe decidin' that she's too chickened out for what she want to request. I don't know why in tarnation that I did it, but I cupped her both cheeks with my hands, bringing her face up to look at me.

And it dawned on me.

Still holdin' her face, I looked into her eyes and asked,  
Do you want me to say.. _sweet nuthins…_ to you?"

She answered me with her eager eyes, and didn't cease a' lookin' into mine, as if askin' if it'd be too much a request. I confirmed my answers by strokin' her cheek with my knuckles. She closed her flutterin' eyelashes and swallowed thickly waitin' for my next move.

Then the lie came out almost effortlessly from my mouth. "Isabella…, sweetheart."  
She gasped and quivered a bit, but I held her close and firm, to still her.

Millions of thoughts swirmin' in my head as I held her there.

She gonna made me hate myself even more than I already did. From fallin' and turned into such a vengeful and hateful person that I've come to be. From bein' such a coward, from wantin' to hurt other human bein' this way-the way I want to hurt her so much. God, how much I want to inflict pain to her. How easy it is to crush this little creature, I thought. It terrified me knowin' how much power I have upon her bein'. Knowin' exactly what she had always hoped for, wished for. To ruthlessly shred that tiny lil hope right in front of her face.

Like beckonin' a gullible kitten to come to you, and instead of pettin' it, you kick it into the corner.

And then she did sumthin' that surprised even me.

She buried her head into my chest and wrapped her arms around my waist. From the choked sobs and the moist I felt on my shirt, I knew she be cryin'. I didn't know what devil possessed me, that made me want nothing than to caress her head and soothe this creature that has been the source of my anguish since God knows when. I be darned to hell for agreein' to this, knowin' full well that it'll only serve to hurt her even more than she probably deserve.

But why of course she deserved this, I reminded myself. She knows she deserved my loath for her. If she hadn't known the slightest pain and misery that she had put me into, she's about to.

So I did just that.

I put my hand on top of her head, slightly caressing and I turned my head sideways onto her ears and whispered,  
"Ssh, 'tis alright sweetheart. I ain't goin' nowhere."

She buried herself deeper into my chest, and I, too, held her tighter. We stayed like that for a few moments longer until her sobs started to cease, and she made a move to loosen her grip on my waist.

Flushed, she wiped her red face and nose. Her eyes were puffy from the cryin'. Strangely, she had a weak smile on her lips. I forced a smile back at her.

"C-can I-?" She hesitantly moved her hand upward. I lift my brow askin' what she want to do next, or rather what permit she was askin' me to give.

"...your hair, I-" I chuckled, earnestly this time. It seems like, she too, like the town's folk I came to know and work with, had the itch to either touch or ruffle my hair. I am probably a dog in past life, and quite a furry one, that people young and old want to pat my head.

"You want to touch my hair.."

She nodded enthusiastically. I bent and lowered my head to her level, and she raised her right hand, and just like I said, pat me like I'm a dog waggin' my tail for its master. She then raised her left hand and buried it in my hair too, just put it there unmoving. Maybe her fingers were too small or my hair was too thick I barely noticed her hands movin' about on top of my head. When I looked up at her from beneath my lashes, she was closing her eyes, as if savorin' the moments.

She opened her eyes, took a deep breath and whispered, "Thank you."

"Yer shirt-, I'm sorry."  
She pointed at my soaked shirt but made no move to touch it, as if we didn't just do more than touching mere minutes ago.

She looked up to me briefly, apologetically. Then she hurried across the room to pull out a fresh shirt from the wardrobe and laid it on the bed.

"Ye, c-can change if ye want," she gestured to the shirt, "…just put your shirt in the basket right there," she pointed to a corner of our room where an empty basket for laundry was placed. "I be-, I be in the wash house," she fidgeted with her hands an looked down on the floor, "…there's some biscuits on the table, if ye-, but supper is… " She muttered all of it rapidly, but halting herself, she looked out the window briefly and hurriedly walked out of the door, not even once looking at me.

* * *

"P-please stop.." I ignored her and moved my body closer still.

"You want this," I assured her and tried to pry her hand from balling her skirt into fists. She staggered back a bit, and my towering height just about cornered her, up 'gainst the wall. She kept on turning her head sideways, hiding her face from my view. And I lower myself to look at her, but she kept her eyes shut tight. I pressed my mouth to her ear, "Don't hide your _beautiful_ face, Isabella," I whispered.

"P-please, Edward.." she managed to squeak, even though her whole body shook and trembled.

"'Tis what ye want, ain't it?"

"B-but not you.." she dared to answer.

Hearin' that, I pressed my chest onto her, trappin' her between me and the wall.  
"Who cares what I want Isabella?" I hissed to her face.

When I clutched both her wrists in my hand and brought it to her sides, she started to mumble,  
"P-please.. please stop. I'm sorry-, I—"

"You are sorry now?" I chuckled spitefully.

She sharply turned her head and looked at me with red, piercing, pair of eyes. Water was streamin' down her face. The sight of her was ghastly.  
"Have mercy, haven't you tortured me enough?"

When I just stared at her dumbfounded, she carried on murmuring,  
"I am not that strong. I am not as strong as you, Edward Cullen. I beg for your mercy and forgiveness. And if-"

She swallowed thickly,

"..if you can't-."

She always have trouble finishing her sentence. Maybe only when speakin' to me, 'cus I've seen 'er a'fore babblin' away with women at the grocery store, not carin' fer anythin'.

"...ye might as well just kill me. Put a bullet of yours right into my head.."  
Her words woke me me up from my dumbfounded state.

"An' death would be just too damn easy for ye, ain't it?"

And it quickly became too much for me. Her talkin' bout wantin' death so nonchalantly. I let go of her instantly, not wantin' to touch her any second longer. And as if she realized what had caused me to do so, she covered her gasps and shook her head from side to side as if implorin' that she didn't mean to open up that old wound. God knows I would never be healed of that. Of what I found near the waterfall that day.

I stood back, and she slid down the floor. A heap of sobbin' mess.

I bolted out and headed towards the stable.

* * *

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